NOVEL NEXT Chapter 8: Chapter 8
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Tolos, five days later.
As soon as I arrived in my city, Darstein informed me that already tomorrow a horde of about fifteen thousand men will be at the walls of Tolos, a large alliance of three Khals of the south of the Dothraki Sea at once.
The siege of Mantaris is still in progress. But there have been no real attempts to take and sack the city, as smaller and less noble Khals have flocked there. I've had to call a small council of war.
My small "war council" consisted only of people who were privy to my secrets, and of course loyal to me. Among them were Larina Vayserion, Okris, Nissa, Miriam, Boros, Rhys, Darstein and Mathis.
Miriam and Darstein knew more about war than anyone else here. Boros knew more about killing or intimidation, Mathis knew more about the sea, Nissa was a Mord-Sith, and Larina and Okris knew nothing about the army. Though Miriam started to work with Ocris before we sailed, she will not be able to make him a full-fledged warrior or strategist for a long time. Rhys is more of a fighter and has never commanded a unit before. So he would only command a small unit in battle.
- A couple of days ago," Darstein began his report, "a thousand mercenaries from the Younger Sons arrived. They encountered one of the Dothraki hordes. They lost half their squad and most of their officers, but the young lieutenant decided to get even with the Dothraki for the deaths of his buddies, and not to miss a chance to make money. So he joined us.
- I hear the Younger Sons are good at what they do," I nodded.
- That's right, Master Rahl, I once fought with my squad against the Younger Sons. They're not bad warriors, and their fame has been renowned throughout Essos for the second century in a row. To my mind, only the Golden Swords are better than them, and the Younger Sons have not been seen to betray their contract, neither by me nor by the Maesters.
- And in any case we could use a thousand extra blades," Miriam agreed with the Westerosi, "How many warriors do we have? - she turned to Larina.
- Two thousand legionaries, a thousand "Younger Sons", another six hundred mercenaries of various smaller units, a thousand guards, as well as two and a half thousand slingers.
- We have about seven thousand warriors against fifteen. That's acceptable. If we stay outside the fortress walls, not counting the militia...
- ... We can get a few thousand," Larina Vayserion said after a moment's hesitation.
-... not counting the militia of a few thousand, then we have a good chance of remaining unharmed. The Dothraki will pound the neighbourhood for a while and then leave. They're not likely to storm us. They don't have the strength.
- The last time our city was sacked more than a decade ago, it was by a Khal with nearly forty thousand riders who led the Dothraki. And there are several different Khals here, always fighting amongst themselves for supremacy. Besides, we have plenty of gold and we can buy our way out.
- That's not an option. And if it is, it is not for me! - I interrupted the conversation of my "counsellors". - Neither I nor my subjects in the future will pay tribute to anyone but me. I am not a petty lord or a town of the past.
- Master Rahl.
- Silence, Larina! You are an intelligent woman, and I understand your concern. But I can assure you that I already have a plan of action in place. I think I'll accelerate my plan to form the D'Haran Empire. And that requires the first high-profile official victory.
- And you're going to do that tomorrow? - asked a smiling Rhys.
- Not tomorrow, but in three days. For this victory I will need not money, but steel and... a little of my magic, and of course good old manipulation of words.
Drogo is the son of Khal Bharbo.
Sixteen-year-old Dothraki Drogo sensed something was wrong.
It had already been the first night since they had arrived under the walls of the ancient city that his father and his temporary Khal allies had decided to rob. At first, they had thought to simply take tribute from these pampered men and eunuchs, if his father's words were to be believed. And he believed his father's words wholeheartedly. As he had always trusted his word and wisdom.
Very soon he would take part in his first siege of the city. It was unlikely that these Tholosians would go into the open field against the true warriors of Essos. And when they get through the walls of Tolos, Drogo and his comrades will cover all the women they can find and take great booty.
His young blood burned with the desire for a swift battle. And this desire was shared by all the young Dothraki. It was a desire shared by all the men, but it was especially evident in the young men who had come here with their fathers, brothers, uncles and grandfathers.
And though Drogo could smell a battle coming, as already mentioned, he also sensed something wrong. But he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was. Partly he put it down to the slight excitement of what was to come. His father's blood rider, Bishah, confirmed this version of Drogo's story, but there was something else....
And that "something" came soon enough. On the evening of the second day of the horde's stay under the walls of Tolos, Drogo heard a strange noise from the horses. He wanted to go to bed after drinking wine with his friends, but this strange noise and muffled blows..... Armed with his curved dagger just in case, he went towards the noise. And when he reached the place where his horse was, he almost dropped the dagger from his hand.
His Red Wind lay breathing heavily on the ground. It was already dark, but the moonlight made it clear that the slurry flowing from his mouth meant that the horse had been poisoned.
He raised the alarm, and immediately all the Dothraki who were still awake in the neighbourhood came running to the noise. And after a few more minutes, those who were asleep. Having learnt of the horrible, and quite heinous in the opinion of the Dothraki, poisoning of the Khal's heir's horses and the dozen and a half others that were around. They rushed out in search of the Tolos scouts.
All along their edge of the common camp of the three Dothraki hordes, Bharbo's warriors searched for the saboteurs. It was already deep into the night. The scoundrels had not been found by the angry Dothraki. Khal Bharbo, Drogo, the Khal's blood riders, and a couple of other experienced old warriors who were commanders of their squads gathered in the tent for a meeting. Khal was tearing up over such an audacious act. He even executed a few sentries and one of the commanders. But when he cooled down a little, he began to think more clearly. And having realised that this poisoning was unlikely to be the end of the foul deeds of the Tolosians, he was ready to give new orders. But his speech was interrupted by a warrior, who had clearly come from a bloody battle.
- My Khal! - fell on his knees before him, not out of respect, but out of depriving his body of strength, - Trouble! Betrayal. Khals Losharh and Khal Doshuaru have raised their warriors against us. They accused us of treachery and of dastardly poisoning all their horses. There's already fighting on the border with our part of the camp...
- What?! How dare those worms say that about us?! Gather our warriors immediately. We will punish these miscreants of donkeys!
Drogo also armed himself with an akinak and marched with the other Dothraki to battle.
Though Khal Bharbo's warriors were far outnumbered by about 3 to 5 of the enemy warriors. But their main advantage and experience made them victorious. After all, the enemy had no horses and unexpected opponents had to fight against cavalry. And the Dothraki were known to be great horsemen. Although they tried to turn the tide of the battle, in the end both "Khal traitors" were personally executed by Drogo's father and most of their soldiers were killed. On Khal Bharbo's side, only four and a half thousand warriors remained in the ranks.
As soon as dawn came, the counting of the slain and the relief of the wounded was completed. But the Dothraki's troubles did not end there.
The sentries informed the Khal that they had inexplicably missed the exit of the Tholian warriors outside the walls of their city. They had lined up in a strange wedge formation and were ready for battle. But they did not advance.
The enraged Khal, angry that his plans had gone to the ancestral spirits, gave the order to prepare for another battle. He had not a shadow of a doubt that they would win the battle.
Already visibly tired Dothraki gathered to attack the enemy, which was in no hurry to advance.
A short speech from the Khal and a new battle began. All free warriors rushed in a huge heap to the very centre of the wedge, which was very weak from any point of view as in the defensive plan. Only eight ranks of legionaries stood shoulder to shoulder against the mighty horsemen, and behind them stood, according to young Drogo's judgement, their general, who was no older than he was. In black armour and a violet cloak behind him. Black long hair that was slicked back and the same as the cloak, violet eyes looked with excitement and amusement at the Dothraki, though his face seemed to express no emotion. But thanks to his good eyesight and the presence of him in the front ranks that approached Tolos' legionnaires, he saw it and realised it.
The realisation of this young man's mockery towards them made his blood boil and he was ready to tear him apart with his own hands. That was exactly what he wanted to do, surrendering himself completely to the heat of battle with the single thought of "killing the bastard who stood next to the banner unknown to him". This banner that was next to him probably pissed him off even more than this 'general': a black field with a white skull in the middle and a violet dragon that was behind it and hugging the skull.
Step by step he approached the now openly laughing "general". They were separated by only a few metres, he swept towards him with his bloody akinak and swung to strike... falling into unconsciousness, remembering the horrible violet eyes that glowed as they approached.
A lingering darkness fell for Drogo....
Darken Rahl.
The outcome of this battle was quite interesting. Neither the Khal nor his best warlords had realised that this formation was a simple ruse to surround them and interrupt them in a tight ring. Of the several thousand Dothraki ragamuffins, only a little over a couple of hundred survived. There were still wounded from that night in their camp, but there were only five hundred nomads and several thousand slaves with their masters' possessions.
Ocris was put in charge by me of the group I sent to their camp to deal with the new spoils. The Dothraki captives were housed in the city jail and two other old barns, under heavy guard. All except this Drogo, if I'm not mistaken. He seems to be the son of the late Khal Bharbo. His fighting style and diligence appealed to me. Young, hot-tempered, a little short-sighted, but as my future general and commander of the Dothraki cavalry, he'll do just fine. And besides, me and my mord-sith will work on his loyalty and education. So don't worry.
I rode in as a winner. I was showered with flattery, smiles, rose petals. A little later in the evening, we had a feast in the Town Hall, where the cream of Tolos society was present. They knew who I was and that true power lay in my hands. And they knew my instructions for tonight.
namely to proclaim an elected monarchy in this city and declare me "Prince of Tolos". They will personally tell this to the people tomorrow at lunchtime and declare that this title is a lifetime and honourable title for a warlord of their city.
Of course, I will not be content with this title for long. It is only the first ladder in my journey. But power and titles are like wine. If you raise someone "unknown" too sharply, the common people or individual members of the aristocracy, both within the borders of this city and outside it, will consider themselves offended and deprived. And squabbles will begin. But after the complete defeat of the Dothraki and the liberation of Mantaris, I think it will be possible to declare my rule over Oros, Tyria, Bhorash, Aelyria, Tholos and Mantaris as a legitimate, hereditary monarchy.
Mantaris sent messages by raven. The first attempt to storm the city has taken place. So far unsuccessful, but it was not the end. It turned out that there are over twenty thousand men (Dothraki) standing under the walls of Mantaris. And they are under the rule of one Khal. So the "betrayal" scenario that I played out here under the cover of night with a little bit of magic and verbiage in the form of one unknown Dothraki won't work. Nor need it. The flight of my soul already knows how to punish this horde as well.....
I ordered Miriam and Darstein to gather all the legionnaires in the city and the surrounding area and, together with the Younger Sons, to move towards Mantaris, taking as many of the healers I had trained there as possible. I travelled alone in the form of a bird.
To be honest, I didn't care how many of the people of Mantaris died, I needed to plant a seed of fear in all the people of that city who lived there, so that they would remember who had saved them and that they would live and prosper as long as their loyalty was as strong as steel. And the Dothraki will remember not to trespass on my lands without my consent.
When I arrived at Mantaris, the Dothraki were already preparing for another attempt to take the city. This is where I began my game. Before another attempt to storm the city, an old man dressed in black appeared in the middle of the field and walked leisurely towards the Dothraki. "Brave warriors", did not attack the old man, they wondered who it was.
And as soon as the elder reached the centre of the Khlasar's advanced detachment, a whole Khal rode out in front of him on a raven horse.
- What do you want, old man? Are you the messenger of Mantaris? Are you ready to surrender the city? - He grinned through his moustache.
- Khal, you have made a mistake. I am not a messenger of Mantaris, I was sent by your ancestors and the Great Stallion. They warn you to get as far away from these places as possible. They belong to the mighty wizard Darken Rahl, who carries the sacred blood of the lords of old. The Ancient Gods of his ancestors are angry with you for your insolence, and the three Khals who left for Tholos have already paid for their arrogance. Now it is your turn. But the Great Stallion has asked for your forgiveness for one day. You have one day to leave this land, or nothing can save you from a terrible fate," and immediately the old man turned into a raven and flew away.
Khal was, of course, a little impressed, but he didn't want to lead the army away. That was my calculation.During the night my 'birds' in the form of small animals and birds infiltrated the camp, some Dothraki they bit, some they scratched. Some of them threw up little balls of surprise in the food that was warming on the fires.
Nobody noticed anything. Nobody cared about these "animals".
And in the morning there was panic in the Dothraki camp. Every fifth warrior was dotted with greyish skin in different parts of his body. They had learned what it was - "grey sickness". These words became fatal for that fifth of the warriors. They were killed and their bodies burned so that no one else would be infected. After that, the horde quickly left Mantaris and went in fear to their own lands.
What they did not know, however, was that this was not the end for them. In a small group of Dothraki I left a "grey sickness", but a bit slow. It would manifest itself as soon as they arrived at their stable. And with close contact with their wives and concubines, they will pass the disease to them, and those in turn to their lovers, if any, and their infants....
Mantaris cheered and thanked me. They didn't know what had happened, I had only given them an edited version of my threats of an army and the punishment of the gods of Valyria, for their blood runs in my veins. These words passed through the ears of some, some thought, and some believed.
After another three days, my subjects and the Younger Sons arrived. They began to rebuild the ruined parts of the city and the wall, to help the wounded... In general, the small traditional work of the "victors".
I think, when the news from Bhorash arrives here, that the rebuilding of the fortress walls is finished, I can proclaim the foundation of a new state - the D'Haran Empire.
To be continued...